


the fear has gripped me but here i go

by deimosun



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Uni AU, xabi is always xabi and stevie is always stevie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 16:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15146717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deimosun/pseuds/deimosun
Summary: uni au. nothing really changes. xabi forever loving and leaving.





	the fear has gripped me but here i go

**Author's Note:**

> rewrite/repost/re-everything.  
> all hail to the WC, but these two will forever be my faves, four years come and four years go.
> 
> "i leave before being left. i decide."

they run into each other while stevie is on his way to the library.

he's looking down into his book and going through it, desperately trying to find the small piece of paper that has his schedule hastily scribbled on it in cheap blue ink when he ends up walking right into someone, hitting their chest fully and stumbling behind a bit, dropping his book and letting out a reflexive "ouch", hand going up to rub his nose where it hit on the stranger's body quite strongly, an ache tingling against his skin, humming behind his fingertips.  
  
the man reaches down for the book after a few seconds, picking it up.  
  
"sorry for crashing into you. i'm stevie" he introduces himself after the man gives him his book back, because that's the polite thing to do.  
  
"stevie?" the man repeats slowly, pronouncing every letter, like he's testing how the name feels on his tongue. he says it in a strong spanish accent so it ends up sounding more like _stebie_.  stevie looks at him, lets out a one thousand megawatt charming smirk and says "kinda like that mate".  
  
"i'm xabi" the stranger says and smiles, slow and sweet like molasses.  
  
stevie's heart skip a beat as he shakes the hand xabi extends him.  
  
that's how it starts.

 

* * *

 

xabi likes long, confusing greek philosophy books and going to fancy art museums and he likes dark, bitter coffee first thing in the morning. 

stevie doesn't like neither of these but he likes xabi and that's enough.

that's more than enough.

 

* * *

  
the first time they kiss, stevie is drunk and xabi is not.  
  
they are walking home after a quite spectacular night out with carra, pepe plus some other boys and it's quiet, everything is silent and time seems to be slowed down like they are stuck inside an hourglass. xabi has got an arm around stevie's shoulder, keeping him upright and steady, keeping him away from falling face first into the concrete sidewalk.  
  
"i just really want to kiss you" stevie mumbles, bringing up his jacket with his fumbly hands so he can shove his face behind it in a drunken attempt to hide inside the fabric.  
  
he feels xabi's arm around him tensing and is ready to apologize when he hears xabi saying "okay".  
  
stevie looks at xabi and xabi is blushing a bit, gnawing at his lower lip to hide a shy smile. it's not really working.  
  
"yeah?" stevie asks just to be sure, and xabi nods. "come here then" he murmurs and disentangles himself from xabi with some effort and slowly moves his cold drunk shaky hands towards xabi's face, just in case he wants an out. just in case he wants to go.   
  
when nothing happens, when it's just them and the streetlamps and the shadow of the city, stevie tilts his head closer enough so he can finally press his lips against xabi's, a lost relief found on the last minute.  
  
xabi lets out a cute little noise, wraps his arms around stevie's waist and kisses him back.

 

* * *

  
xabi is hard to read.  
  
for all he lets everyone see, for everything he puts up as his image he guards himself inside high walls and doesn't actually show anything of importance, anything of weight. sometimes he'll touch stevie like it really means something. the moment passes so quickly stevie is doubtful it ever happened, feels his perception getting skewered at the corners, edges melting off slowly into the background.  
  
xabi holds himself like he's trying to keep everything from falling apart. it's not pretty to watch.  


* * *

 

stevie knows he's screwed before it actually hits. he knows he's fucked before pepe pulls him into a secluded corner in the bar and asks "what's up with you and xabs?".  
  
he knew this question was coming and he tried to avoid it at all costs. he knew his friend knew, he knew they were aware of how he looked at xabi and how he got too close sometimes, how his hand froze centimeters before touching xabi's with his own. it was just a question of time. time he run out of. he doesn't answer, instead looks down into the bar's dirty floor and puts his hand inside his pockets. doesn't look at pepe at all, eyes obsessively going over and over every little crack on the linoleum, every dirt smudge, every stain.  
  
a soft, clipped noise of understanding, a sad "oh no" spoken in the softest voice he's ever seen coming out of pepe's yowling mouth later and he's being manhandled into a rough, caring hug. he hugs pepe back and doesn't even have to say anything, not really, but it coils around his mind.  
  
(xabi's hands, wrist, elbow, shoulder, neck, jaw, mouth, teeth, smile, nose, smell, eyes, eyelashes, iris, cornea, brain.

precious man, lovely man, man he's in love with but can't say. can't let out loud. he won't let you. you lay the pill on your tongue and xabi force feeds it down your throat with a hook, scratching your esophagus and ruining your vocal cords. leaves nothing but scars behind.)  


 

* * *

  
xabi is.  
  
xabi is something else. he keeps himself away from everything at a certain degree always, he keeps himself saved away and he keeps himself closed off all the time.  
  
(most of the time.  
  
stevie see the cracks on his armour when they are on the bed together, when he's fucking xabi hard and rough against the mattress, when he melts away at the iron and gold surrounding xabi's skull. feels it when xabi is messily kissing him and whimpering at each thrust, hands shaking around his neck like a reverence. he knows that there's something under xabi's skin, there's something scary and dark inside and he doesn't know what to do he doesn't know what do he doesn't know what to do.)

 

* * *

  
when they first started publicly going out, pepe called him at four pm to have a talk. he wasn't sure exactly what it was about. he went anyway.  
  
they met up at the cafe near uni, and no one says anything until pepe suddenly lets out "this is not a good idea."  
  
"what?" stevie asks.  
  
"it's not my place to tell, you know. it really isn't," pepe says, and rubs a hand against his face. even the action looks tired, as if he's been rehearsing this to himself. "but it's not going to be how your imagining."  
  
"how am i imagining it?" he doesn't ask what pepe is talking about. he knows.  
  
"i don't know steven, you tell me."  
  
the silence is so tense you could cut through it with a simple kitchen's knife.  


* * *

  
xabi likes to smoke.  
  
he likes to smoke behind the art block building and he likes those marlboro menthol cigarettes. he doesn't see the point of buying them light. it's going to end up killing you, anyway. what's the difference?  
  
he goes through a pack in less than a week, smelling like a walking chimney mixed with coffee and expensive lotion.  
  
to stevie, that smell is like home.

 

* * *

they are laying on the grass at the park. stevie is with his head on xabi's lap, the football is on his belly and he's staring at the clouds. the one on the far left of his vision looks like a gun.  
  
xabi is reading some pretentious book to his english literature class and he keeps humming a song, flipping the pages quietly and soaking the warmth from the sun, occasionally petting stevie on the head, playing with his hair and scratching his scalp slightly.  
  
it's nice, it's light, it's blessed.  
  
(it doesn't stay like that for long.)  


* * *

  
stevie doesn't know why exactly but xabi is always a step ahead, always a touch too far and always a word too late. it's like he tries to escape every possible outcome that could possibly push  him out of line. his eyes are always a touch too cold, hands too far away and so untouchable it stings to look.  


* * *

 

it's inevitable, in the end. he knew it would happen and he knew it was coming but that doesn't make it hurt any less, doesn't make the wound disappear and doesn't make every breath feel any less heavy inside his lungs.  
  
he sees pepe's pitying looks looming over his back and it makes his shoulders sag under the weight of everything, under the weight of being left behind.  
  
everything reminds him of xabi. the forgotten shirt under his bed, the coldplay album on his phone and the expensive coffee on his cupboard.  
  
it stings like rubbing salt into an open wound - it stings like setting up a salt water fountain that only purpose is to drip all over him, all over, non stop.

 

* * *

  
it's past midnight and xabi is leaving.  
  
"please don't go" stevie whispers, and xabi freezes into place.  
  
"i can't stay." he answers, his voice sounds strained and tired. stevie doesn't know why he can't stay doesn’t know why he always does this doesn’t know why he always is missing, in some way or another, never fully there. never entirely there to love.  
  
"i love you." it's nothing but an statement. xabi finally moves again and picks his backpack up.  
  
"no you don't."  
  
the noise the door of the flat makes when it closes doesn't feel like closure at all.  


* * *

 

loving is like gambling.  
  
(it's a risk you take. all you can do is hope and wait for the best.)  
  
stevie took his gamble. he lost.


End file.
